


It Goes Bump in the Night

by Rin_the_Shadow



Series: In Your Own Words [3]
Category: Dororo (Anime 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And Even More Platonic Cuddling, Anxiety, Character Study, Crying, Dororo is a good bro, Familial Relationships, Families of Choice, Fear of Abandonment, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Hyakkimaru Is a Good Bro, Loads of Platonic Cuddling, Nonverbal Communication, Past Character Death, Personal Demons, Platonic Cuddling, Self-Hatred, Severe weather, Sibling Bonding, Tahomaru is a good bro, ambiguous wibbly wobbly timelines, and also occasionally a very confused one, because i'm a writer and we have a limited amount of math-ing we can do in a given work, discussion of communication, mentions of depression, possible PTSD, possible internalized ableism, preverbal trauma, probably fluctuates between which of those it is more of, references to episode 5, references to episodes 6 and 9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-05 13:59:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18830089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rin_the_Shadow/pseuds/Rin_the_Shadow
Summary: Their journey together is not an easy one. They're a mismatched group which somehow fit itself together. They're still figuring parts of that out.Now if only the demons surrounding them would give them a moment to do that.





	1. Pragmatic

Tahomaru was well aware that he often let his emotions get the better of him. It was what had prevented him from being able to see past his mother’s haze of depression, and what prevented him from fully becoming the proud lord his father wanted him to be, even if he would never admit it out loud. On the other hand, it was what had let him become so close to Hyogo and Mutsu, rather than distant as a lord would normally be to his retainers. He liked to think he was better off for it.

But then, it was also what had allowed his father to manipulate him into fighting his brother. Instinctively, he had understood it had been wrong to sacrifice someone who had no say in the matter, even if it would ensure their land’s survival. If he had been stronger, he would have said as much, in the words he wanted to say, rather than the words he had said. He had managed a part of it, he thought. He had managed _enough_.

And just like that, his father had turned it around, telling him he was letting his own feelings cloud his judgment, demanding to know, “Will you sacrifice this land just so you can remain innocent?”

It hadn’t been just that. He _knew_ it hadn’t. When he had found out about his brother’s sacrifice, a cold fear had grown inside of him that if his father could sacrifice the firstborn he had barely known, there would be little to stop him from sacrificing anything else that might stand in his way. That while Tahomaru was useful _now_ as an heir, it was always a possibility that could change. But that had been a purely emotional reaction, too, he had told himself. He was simply not thinking things through.

After all, the demons would protect their land and ensure its survival. And so on that reasoning, he had convinced himself it was his _brother_ who was the demon, that it wasn’t his place to question something that worked simply because it happened to be his own flesh and blood paying the price for it. If it had been anyone else, he wouldn’t have questioned it. Sometimes, the only way to survive was to make that difficult choice and hold yourself to it. That was what his father had been trying to tell him.

And so he had clashed swords with the demon boy, and lost his eye as a price for rushing in.

As he lie bleeding, hardly feeling the bandages wrapped over his eye, and hearing his mother on the other side of the screen, fighting either to live or to die, crying out in delirium for her sons not to kill each other, he’d known he had been a fool.

That deal hadn’t stopped the crab from devouring villagers. It hadn’t stopped mudslides and droughts, or skirmishes with other clans. As much as he’d tried to tell himself it was all recent, it had only started happening when the demon boy had begun to reclaim his body, he’d known it couldn’t be the case.

The first incident had happened years ago, before Hyakkimaru could possibly have begun his hunt. And then there was the question of how he could have even _known_ to hunt the demons, let alone gotten the weapons he needed to do so. Try as he might, he had only been able to come up with one reason: when demons get a taste for human flesh, _they keep eating_.

He hadn’t spoken to his mother before he left. She had been unconscious at the time, and he had slipped into her room and rested a hand on her forehead, whispering a promise to return once he’d found his answer. Hyogo and Mutsu would tell her later, if she survived and they could remain. 

In some ways, this was better, he told himself.  If he had spoken to her, he was almost certain the doubts churning inside of him would have swallowed him whole.

* * *

Of course,  he would have thought that in the time he’d traveled with his elder brother and the little imp, that any lingering doubts would have long since banished themselves. Instead, they simply found new forms and kept eating at him. It was almost laughable, really. One type of demon eating at his brother, and another kind entirely eating at him. But he liked to think he could survive it.

Still, there were times, sometimes even days, when things would get bad. Tahomaru would feel phantom pains in his ruined eye, and sometimes he could ignore it. Other times, his mind would supply the snap of a blade shattering and the rush of anxiety, the crushing humiliation of losing in front of his father’s army. From there, it would only be seconds before his legs turned useless and he would crash to the ground, sucking in air and pressing at his eye to staunch the bleeding he knew wasn’t happening.

The first time it had happened in front of him, Hyakkimaru hadn’t understood what was happening, only that his younger brother was afraid of something, and he had reached out to comfort him only to be met with a harsh shove and a scream of “ _Don’t touch me!_ ”

As he had come out of that panicked state, all he could think of what that it was all just _so stupid_ , that his stupid emotions just kept coming up and getting in the way at the worst possible moments, and now they were going to tear down everything they had worked _so hard_ to build up between the three of them, and they would be back to where they had started, if not worse because of the violence between them. And what was he supposed to do when that happened? He'd practically burned every other bridge he'd had to choose from in coming here.

Sometime in there, Dororo had tried to explain things to Hyakkimaru, as much as an eight-year-old could explain that kind of thing. In some ways, that just made it even worse.

But to his surprise, his elder brother had crawled over to him that night, with a whisper of, “Tahomaru?” There was something just the slightest bit amusing about feeling their positions reversed, but he would have been lying if he’d said that he felt anything stronger than relief that he hadn’t ruined everything. Even if it was tainted with some gnawing fear just below it.

“Hm?” he’d responded, wondering why he couldn’t make himself say more.

Hyakkimaru had sat for a moment, visibly struggling with the wording. “Tahomaru,” he started again, face screwing up as he concentrated on the words. “Hurt. Scared. You…” His hands shook, and he gripped the fabric of his clothing to stifle it. “I hurt you?”

It took him a moment to try and guess just when he meant. Something else he had learned was that his elder brother didn’t have much of a concept of verb tenses. It was easy to forget, since there were some he had started to understand, but past tense was a lot more ambiguous with him. Still, he figured he could assume on this one. “Today? No.” He really didn’t want to talk about this now, and he would have preferred not to spell it out.

“But before?”

Tahomaru bit the inside of his lip. That damn aura reading was really _not_ helping with this. He could lie, sure, but he’d just pick up on it when his stupid emotions gave him away. “That’s neither here nor there at this point, is it.” It didn’t matter, he told himself. It happened over a week ago, at least.

He seemed to think about it for a moment, brow pinching just the slightest bit. Or perhaps he didn’t understand the expression and was trying to work out what it meant.

Suffice to say, it thoroughly shocked him when the next words out of his brother’s mouth were, “Sorry. I was…angry. Dororo, scared. I worry.”

And how to respond to that. It would be so easy to tell him he wasn’t looking for an apology, that besides, an apology wouldn’t fix his eye or stop his mother from stabbing herself or make his damn stupid emotions shut up and let him make a rational decision for once in his life, even if he’d probably only understand about half of it, maybe a bit more. At least, he’d get the point of it, if nothing else.

But at the same time, he’d also given him a way to end the conversation without shutting everything down. “You worry a lot for the kid, I bet.” He was already tiring out. It would be easy to push him to the point of being too tired to speak.

He gave a small nod. “Dororo finds trouble. Demons. Monsters…” There was a pause as he searched for the next phrase, never quite happy with any of them and even seeming a bit distressed over it. If it wasn’t late enough that he would probably wear out and just go to sleep, Tahomaru would have felt a bit bad over it.

But then, Hyakkimaru continued instead, wooden knuckles shaking against his hem. “You, too. I worry…for you, too. I hurt you, then. Scared, now.”

No, not scared now. Just raw. Raw and not ready to have all this stupid crap he’d tried for years to push down come back up in the worst possible way. It wasn’t even just about the injury at this point. If it ever had been.

“Help you. How?” Another pause, tongue working out the sounds. “How. Do. I help?”

Now _that_ had almost drawn a laugh as he heard his own words repeated back to him. “I’m surprised you remember that,” he couldn’t resist commenting. Hyakkimaru had been so overwhelmed that day, he was honestly surprised he could remember _anything_ from it. _He_ wouldn’t have wanted to.

Hyakkimaru continued, undisturbed by his remark, and started to reach a wooden hand towards him before thinking better of it and setting it against his own cheek, tapping it with the opposite hand once, and then pointing to Tahomaru. “This…is bad?”

“No,” he had answered almost immediately. “Sometimes,” he revised.

“When? When scared? How do I help?”

“I don’t know,” he answered, sounding much shorter than he felt and wishing that he could have given any other answer but the one he had given.

A brow pinched together, but Hyakkimaru seemed, not _happy_ with the answer, not _satisfied_ , but at least he seemed to accept it. He tapped the hand resting on his cheek once more. “This is bad, now?”

A small spike of worry shot through him at the idea of those sheath-hands near his ruined eye, and he struggled to swallow it back. He hadn’t had a problem with it before. There was no reason to have an issue with it now.

“No…” he started, already knowing what a bad idea it was. It had helped him before, and if he was honest, he really didn’t want to lose it. “No, but…with this one.” He reached out, taking his brother’s right hand and bringing it to his left cheek. “This way.”

His heart pounded and he felt himself shaking as his elder brother leaned their foreheads against each other. _It’s not the same, it’s not the same, it’s not even on the same side._ And then there was that slight, side-to-side motion, a silent reassurance that everything would be okay. They weren’t yet, but they would be. Maybe. Eventually.

Tahomaru bit down hard on his lip, forcing his hands from his ruined eye to grip his brother’s back. This was fine, it would be okay. And then those _damned stupid_ emotions welled up again, and he felt his brother’s free hand come up to his back, tracing tiny circles over his shoulder. This was fine, he would be okay. Not now, but eventually. Maybe.

A small part of him realized it was the second time he had cried himself to sleep against his brother. An even smaller part wondered if it would become a habit.

* * *

Sometimes, it would help. Other nights, he would fall asleep and dream of things that made him wake in a cold sweat, but that he would never remember after. Sometimes he could let his brother and Dororo near him, let them sit on either side of him, nuzzling against his forehead and…whatever it was Dororo did, tracing patterns on his back or simply sitting with his weight against him…until he could breathe normally and walk on shaky legs.

Other days were worse, and they would simply sit by him, not facing him, and not within striking distance, until he could come out of it, letting him walk beside them, but not touching him. Hyakkimaru still messed up from time to time, still tried to reach for him on the wrong side or at the wrong time, but Dororo could usually tell when he was about to and could help him figure out when he should or shouldn’t. Most of the time, he simply said, “Let him reach for you first, okay?”

Over time, they had started to work it out. They had started to figure out what worked and what only made things worse, and _when_ it worked and _when_ it only made it worse. He would never stop hating those days, Tahomaru was certain, but it gave him comfort, at least, to know that when his demons came for him, no matter their form, his brothers would not sit by and let him be consumed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An alternative summary: In which I take episode 18 as a personal challenge and hurtle myself at canon with everything I've got.
> 
> This chapter is actually one of few where I've ever scrubbed out the vast majority of what I've written and then rewrote it. I was initially unable to make that middle scene come out in a way I was satisfied with, but then, seeing some of the reactions to episode 18 and observing my own, it became obvious I was attacking this beast from the wrong angle.
> 
> In any event, please let me know what you think!  
> ~Rin


	2. Parental

Dororo liked to think of himself as an upbeat kind of guy. Sure, it was hard work keeping his big bro from working himself into the ground and making sure Hyakkimaru’s brother--which technically also made him  _his_ brother, too? Dororo hadn't figured that out yet--making sure Tahomaru didn’t do anything stupid just because he didn’t know anything about surviving outside of Daigo-land, but he could manage it well enough. It helped that most of the time, he only had to point things out _once_ before they got it.

He’d tease them and joke about stuff that happened, or pick fights with Tahomaru over stupid things, or climb on Hyakkimaru when they weren’t moving around from place to place. And sometimes, his big bro would let him play with the joints on his prosthetic fingers, bending and unbending them (and occasionally moving them into silly gestures that Hyakkimaru didn’t understand but still smiled at) until Tahomaru would comment on his childishness, and then Dororo would throw some dirt or stick out his tongue and curl even deeper into his big bro’s lap.

Once or twice, he had fallen asleep like that. Well, maybe it was more than once or twice, but who was keeping count? In the early days, Hyakkimaru would simply let him stay there, and he’d wake up with the nerves pinching in his neck and cry out, “Agh! Bro, I’m done for! Why’d you let me do that?” or something of that sort.

But more recently, he’d started moving him, picking him up and holding him against his chest and shoulder. He wondered if it was something he had learned on his own, or if it was something Tahomaru had showed him how to do. Though he no longer worried that he’d lead them into a trap or something like that, for his part, Dororo hoped his bro had learned it on his own.

And it wasn’t always like that. There were tough times, too. A demon would get a hit in against Hyakkimaru, and they’d have to deal with that, or he’d struggle to cope with his new body parts and how they affected him (though that one was getting better, for the most part. It probably helped that they hadn’t recovered any in awhile, so it was mostly retreading familiar territory) or the memories of something he couldn’t quite say would shake him up, and they would have to step back and deal with that. Tahomaru was dealing with some stuff, too, and it didn’t take a genius to guess what, but it was still a new learning curve on top of what they’d already had. To make matters worse, they were _both_ prone to lying about how they were. But they always managed to handle it all in the end, in no small part thanks to the great Dororo’s help.

So yeah, Dororo liked to think of himself as a pretty upbeat kind of guy.

The only problem with that was that sometimes, it was _exhausting_. Some days, he’d wake up crying over white spider lilies dyed red with blood or burning temples and the echoes of screams far too primal for anyone’s comfort, or his back would burn and everything would feel wrong. On those days, he’d want nothing more than to curl up under a rock somewhere and just shut out everything around him. And some days, he’d be able to push it back down and keep going like he normally did. Other times, he really would run and hide, and he’d curl up in a ball and stay like that until he could trust himself not to scream and cry in front of the others, because they each had more than enough issues for the both of them and dammit, _he was eight_ , he shouldn’t have been able to crop up that many in the short time he’d been around.

The thing was, for all his difficulty figuring out how to respond to things, Hyakkimaru was _good_ at finding him in those moments, and he would sit down next to him and run a hand over his back or cup his cheek until Dororo crawled into his lap or rested his head against his shoulder. When he finally felt like he could stand up and go back, his big bro would bring their foreheads close together, sometimes with a soft, slow nuzzling motion, and then he would ruffle his hair, an unspoken promise to look after him.

Admittedly, that had nearly made him gulp down his own tongue the first few times he’d done it. But in his defense, he hadn’t known what he was doing, and even his mama and papa weren’t quite that forward with affection. It took him awhile to realize it wasn’t _more_ , it was just _different_. Just the way Hyakkimaru showed his care. And maybe he could be okay with that.

* * *

 

So of course, the one morning he woke up, heart pounding, voice shrill in his own mind as he begged his mama, his papa, his big bro, _“Please don’t leave me!!”_ he wasn’t there. Most days, he would have known not to worry, but on a day like this it was more than enough to set him hyperventilating, frantically crawling around, looking for any trace of Hyakkimaru.

Tears were already welling in his eyes as he scrambled for any evidence that he was wrong, that he was just on the wrong side of the log, he just wasn’t seeing him. And then he noticed Tahomaru, already awake, hands raised and a slightly worried look in his eye. And maybe that should have been a comfort, but in his already-racing mind, that only made things worse.

“Where’s my brother? What happened to him?! _Please, I want my brother!_ ” The words tumbled out faster and faster as his arms wrapped around himself, crying out again and again and again.

To his credit, Tahomaru tried to explain to him, “Nothing happened. It’s all right. Hyakkimaru just went to find some food. He’ll be right back.” But the words had barely registered as more than noise to him.

By now, he was fully crying, sniffling and whimpering and blinking back hot, fat tears that just kept dropping no matter how hard he scrubbed them off.

“Dororo, it’s okay,” he was dimly aware of a tentative hand on his back. He flinched, but couldn’t bring himself to pull away. “It’s okay. Your big bro will be back soon.”

If it were any other time, he would have laughed at how strange the phrase “big bro” sounded coming out of the young lord’s mouth. But right now, he was starting to feel light-headed and it just made everything worse. Tahomaru _never_ used his name, always “kid” or “twerp.” And he _never_ used phrases like “big bro.” It was always Hyakkimaru's name or “brother” or “elder brother,” if he was feeling especially formal. If he was using Dororo’s terms for things, it meant things had gotten really, _really bad_.

Someone was telling him to breathe, and he tried to make himself obey, but his yukata was too tight and the bands on his neck were too tight and everything was too tight—

And then there was a shift as the person next to him sat up. Somewhere far away, he heard a “Please help me…” and then another presence moved Tahomaru and sat down in his place. Dororo had barely enough time to question it, when he felt familiar wooden fingers running a circle along his back.

“Bro…” He forced himself to swallow, trying to time his breathing to Hyakkimaru’s hand-movement.

“Bro…” he said again, forcing himself to unwrap his arms from his body, pushing himself to an upright position.

He might have said it a third time, but if he did, he didn’t register it, forcefully burying his face in his brother’s chest and latching onto him with both hands. A high-pitched whine escaped his lips, muffled by the fabric of his yukata, and his shoulders trembled beneath those sturdy wooden hands. And he knew he _should_ feel embarrassed about it—master thieves didn’t cry, after all—but in that moment, he simply couldn’t bring himself to care. His big bro hadn’t gone away. It was just a dream.

 _It was all just a dream_. What had it even been about? He couldn’t remember anything specific. All he could remember was a panic suffocating him and reaching out for someone who just seemed further and further away, never quite disappearing, but always—

Another wave of fear ripped through him and he clung even tighter, focusing on the hand carding through his hair and running up and down his back. “Don’t leave me behind, okay?”

Sturdy arms tightened around him just the slightest bit in answer, and he felt the slight, slow rocking motion of his body. Some days, that would have been enough. He tried to tell himself it was enough. But he couldn’t stop himself from repeating, “ _Okay_?”

“Dororo…” The sound rumbled low in Hyakkimaru’s chest, his body warm and real against the receding tendrils of the dream. It was only a single word, but it spoke far more than words ever could have, concern and comfort and reassurance all at once. And he let himself nestle into that, both the warmth in his speech and the warmth radiating from his body.

* * *

 

None of them were entirely sure how long they stayed like that before any of them moved. Dororo still felt drained and shaky inside, and his big bro had been more than willing to balance him on his hip or hold him in his lap as they prepared the fish he’d brought them. With Tahomaru guiding his hands and helping him not to reach into the fire, the two teens somehow managed to cook them.

He was tempted to say he hadn’t expected him to know how to do something like that, even if it was a little charred on one side, but then he remembered how he’d rushed to him when he’d heard his distress. So he restrained himself to only a half-hearted, “Well, it’s a little tougher than I’d like, but it’s not bad for someone who’s never cooked before.”

Tahomaru only shook his head, silently taking a bite out of his own fish. Huh. Maybe he was holding back because he’d been so upset earlier. And while he was tempted to say he didn’t need his pity and he could take the normal amount of snippiness he usually gave him, he had to admit he appreciated the break.

It would be a slow day, after all that, and a quiet one. They wouldn’t hunt many demons that didn’t come to them first, and they wouldn’t travel as fast or as far, and Dororo wouldn’t joke or tease as much, and Hyakkimaru would probably end up carrying him for most of it. Tahomaru would occasionally reach over and tousle his hair or rest a hand near his shoulder, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do and was copying Hyakkimaru in hopes that it would be all right. But it would be okay. They’d take it one step at a time however fast or slow they needed to (even if his big bro carried him for half of it). And it was nice to know that if he fell apart, they’d be right there to help him put himself back together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like it's been awhile since Dororo really got a lot of page time in my works, and his chapter was what I had planned for second, so here we are. Dororo's was one of those that I had a general idea the whole time of what it was going to be about, but much like when I wrote Tahomaru's, the characters ended up driving most of how exactly it got where I wanted it to go. It was just an occasional winding up and charging to jump over some of the transitions and how I wanted to wrap it up.
> 
> I had planned to wait until Monday to post, but losing my own Mio recently, I needed to finish something that wasn't more Dororo Silent Hill AU drawings.
> 
> In any event, please let me know what you think!  
> ~Rin


	3. Preverbal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check endnotes for chapter-specific warnings. I wasn't sure whether this warranted one, but if I were showing this at Anime Club, I would be required to do a content warning, and so I am putting one here.

Hyakkimaru knew he wasn’t very good at speaking. He had gotten better at piecing words and phrases together, even if he understood them better than he could say them. And he’d started to figure things out based on how Dororo and Tahomaru used them.

“Brother” and “elder brother,” for example, were the same as when Dororo called him “big bro,” and they were similar but not the same as “little brother,” which was what they had told him to use for them if he wanted to (though he usually liked their names better). “Mother” meant the same thing as “mama,” though he wasn’t quite sure if “papa” and “father” were the same as them, or different. Dororo approached “papa” with some fondness, and a little sadness, which was the same as he did for “mama,” but for Tahomaru, when he used “father,” there was a bit more apprehension and an almost longing bitterness. And that fear wasn’t there in any of the others. Was “father” something harsher, then? He wasn’t sure. But he _did_ understand some things, even if he didn’t know the words for them, or couldn’t use the words himself.

And Dororo was trying to help him put more thoughts and feelings to words and more words to sentences that made sense to people outside of their group. It was hard for him, because most of the time, speaking took up a lot of focus, and so they would have to find times that they weren’t doing anything else. This was even more true when he was tired or distressed.

Admittedly, there were times when he wondered why he had to do it, because it wasn’t like he couldn’t just slowly pick up the language from listening to Dororo and Tahomaru. Besides that, it wasn’t like they were going to let him wander off somewhere that he’d have to use much more than what he already knew. But he also knew that not everyone would be like the one who helped him when Dororo was ill. After all, the first person he’d asked had left before he could even finish. Plenty of others had tried to kill him—even his own brother at one point—and he didn’t really think being able to talk to them would stop them from trying. Though if there was one good reason to speak, it was this: If they were both hurt and it was more than he could handle, he needed to be able to get help.

But it still didn’t make it easy. And being tired or overwhelmed just made it worse, made him slur and stumble and made his hands shake because everything was wrong and all the tension had to come out somewhere and if he started screaming it would only make everything worse. The first time, before Tahomaru had joined them, Dororo had grabbed his trembling hands, running his thumbs over them to try and calm him down. Before he’d even realized what he was doing, Hyakkimaru had ripped his hands away and grasped at his hair just behind his ears.

“Okay, okay,” Dororo had panicked slightly. “Don’t do that. I got it. I won’t do it again. It’s okay.” He didn’t make another attempt to take his hands instead reaching farther until he found his big bro’s back, first holding, testing to see if he would pull away, then running one hand in a circle until he had calmed down enough to reach back and return the gesture. When his arms tightened around him, Dororo squeezed back, that tiny pressure keeping him steady.

* * *

Needless to say, Dororo had gotten _really_ good at helping him in those moments. After Tahomaru had joined, he had also started to learn. There was still something in his aura that hesitated whenever he reached for him, though. At first, he had thought it was because he was afraid he might hurt him again, and it stung, but it wasn’t like he could get angry at someone he’d hurt being afraid of him. But when his little brother had spoken to him again, he’d realized it was because _he_ was afraid of hurting _him_. Which he supposed made sense. Of course, he’d also gotten that hesitant flare whenever he watched Dororo climbing on him or yanking him around by his prosthetic arms. Which was silly. Tahomaru had seen him fight. He knew he could handle it.

Still, he understood that in many ways, it was similar to what the large, familiar spirit he’d lived with most of his life had done for him. If a demon attacked him, or he fell from a tree, or struggled to get food through the opening of his mask—there had been many things that would cause a fearful spike in his aura. And then the flame would recede as he hesitated for a moment. At the time, he hadn’t understood why, but the large spirit must not have known he couldn’t feel pain back then and feared hurting him further.

Tahomaru was a little like that, in some ways, even if he usually let Dororo take care of his wounds and thus shouldn’t have worried about hurting him. But he still helped him, tried to find different things for him to run his hands over when he was stressed, or helped Dororo until he could get to him. He may not have thought it, but he was also good at helping him out in those moments.

And sometimes, it would be clear what set him off—too-loud noises, too many people, too long without sleep, too much talking after going without sleep—and they could work him back easily, knowing exactly what happened and exactly what to do to get him away or calm him down.

Other things were harder, mixed up with anger and hurt. The memory of his own screaming the night Mio had died, the fires roaring and devouring the one thing he’d wanted to protect, the slow flickering out of her soul, the fact that he _couldn’t understand why_ anyone would do that to her. He could try to say her name, hope Dororo understood, but sometimes, it was all he could do to force out broken syllables that he hoped sounded like _Mio_ , or hum a broken line of her song and hope it was even a little bit right.

There were other memories, too. Some that were more concrete than others, accusations, bits of battles, hands roughly grabbing at his prosthetic arm or struggling to rip him loose from a monster’s jaws. If he couldn’t get back from it on his own, one of his brothers could usually reach him, could usually figure out enough to help.

* * *

But sometimes, it was something else entirely, that he couldn’t even begin to understand. A flash of lightning that struck him as not quite right, that he didn’t even know why it set him shaking, scrambling to drag Tahomaru and Dororo to any kind of shelter they would fit under.

“Hey, bro, what’s going on? You didn’t get scared the last one we had,” Dororo gasped, the wind still knocked out of him from Hyakkimaru’s grabbing him so roughly to carry him into the temple. There were still flecks of golden aura from _something_ that had been in there. It had to give them _some_ protection. Even if he didn’t know what they were hiding from.

“This isn’t normal for him?” Tahomaru had already crouched at his side.

The younger boy shook his head. “No, not for this. He usually likes rain.”

Hyakkimaru wanted to tell them there was something different about _this_ storm, some kind of energy that wasn’t quite right, but all he could get out was, “Wrong.” Not even _wrong, this_ or _feels wrong_. Just “Wrong.”

“Wrong?” Dororo’s brow scrunched. “What’s wrong, bro? The storm?”

But his mind was already too fuzzy to get any more words out. And he _knew_ stuff like this was exactly why he needed to learn to put his thoughts into words. But even if he’d understood why he was afraid, it wasn’t like it would have stopped his own voice from choking him. His hands came up to his ears, then down to grip the fabric of his clothing. Textures. Textures would help. But then the sound was still there, the rumbling and hissing and even his own _breathing_ was too loud. He could block them out, or he could have the textures. He couldn’t have both.

Worse, a prickling, gnawing ache had started in his right foot, in his ears, crawling over his skin and up his leg and what was wrong, _what was wrong?_ The demons had taken parts of him before, even ripping them straight from his body.

Pain. If there was pain, it was his. He shot forward, striking his real foot with a wooden hand.

“Stop it! What are you doing? _Stop_!” The tiny soul threw itself over his leg, arm held up to block him from hitting himself a second time.

Dororo. He must have shaken him off. He’d been trying to comfort him, hadn’t he? But now he had flattened himself over the limb, tiny soul flickering with concern, little heart beating rapidly against his thigh. “Don’t hurt yourself, okay?”

Pressure. Pressure on his leg was good. There was weight against his back, too. Tahomaru started to uncurl from around him, slowly running his hands over his back, his spine, his shoulders as soon as he had unwound enough to do so. Pressure was good. Touch was good.

He leaned himself back, relief flooding his body. Feeling meant it was _his_. Tahomaru, on the other hand, stiffened, looking to Dororo, silently asking what he should do. There was a shaky feeling as a little forehead nodded against his knee, and Hyakkimaru reached for it instinctively, tousling the hair on the boy’s head. It was different than how his leg felt it. Or how his chest or forehead would have felt it. But it was a feeling. And feeling meant it was his.

And then Tahomaru was taking his hand, guiding it to the fold of his yukata just to the left of his neck. “Feel that,” he said, running his fingers on the back of his hand once, a signal for him to imitate the motion. “That helps you feel calm, doesn’t it?” His younger brother preferred to be specific with him, even when it was something he would have already known. Still, he copied the motion, noting spots where the threads had begun to pull, feeling the wood of his prosthetic fingers against his shoulder in addition to the cloth texture. This was okay. Textures were good. This was okay.

A loud crack of thunder made him jump, and even Dororo flailed for a moment before inching up a little closer. He hadn’t even gotten the worst of it, as Tahomaru had shoved him sideways so his ear was pressed into his chest, clamping his hand over the other one. It wouldn’t be much good if demons really did decide to eat him right then. Tahomaru was still learning to fight around his reduced vision, and Dororo was much too small to do any real damage. He wasn’t even sure _he_ could have done much in this state, not if it jumped down and burned his skin off like he’d felt earlier. But this felt _good_. It felt good to have them curled around him, trying to protect him from fears he couldn’t name.

There were more strange flashes of energy, followed by another resounding crack. “It’s not a normal storm, is it?” Tahomaru’s voice buzzed in his chest, and he focused on the vibrations. “It’s something else.”

Hyakkimaru forced himself to nod. _Wrong_ , he wanted to repeat.

“Yeah,” Dororo sat up. Then he tapped against his thigh, a quick motion just above his knee. “This okay, bro?”

It still felt a little strange to nod while mashed against Tahomaru’s chest, but he still reached out a hand for Dororo, who happily scrambled forward, nestling his cheek against him. If he pulled his knee up to rest around him, just to feel something against it as he wrapped his arms around the boy, neither of them said anything about it.

The storm continued all through the night. When it lulled, they would try to sleep, but the second they unfolded from their huddle, it was almost as if the storm itself would sense it and start back up even louder than before. As quick as they lay down, they would snap back into position, Tahomaru bracing against his head and back, yanking him up so fast it almost hurt, and Dororo pressed against his chest, both soothing and physically blocking him from hitting himself. If he could have made himself speak, he would have promised not to do it again, but he settled for holding him just a little tighter.

Sometimes, when it was quieter, Tahomaru would reach just a little farther with the hand that covered his ear, gently running his fingers back and forth along his forehead. And sometimes the motion would lull him to sleep. When he’d realized what he was trying to do, Hyakkimaru had returned the gesture, rubbing against his hand. That had pulled a quiet laugh, “Of course you would.”

* * *

The next morning, Hyakkimaru awoke to find Dororo blearily tracing patterns over his back, even though his soul flame told him he was still asleep. The slight pressure against his head told him Tahomaru was still sleeping, too, cheek pressing into his hair. It wasn’t a big deal for Hyakkimaru. He had slept in plenty of cramped, tight places and been in positions far worse than this, but a pang shot through him even so. It couldn’t have been comfortable for either of them.

But later that day, when he’d pointed to their necks and their shoulders and asked, “Hurt? You, sleep, hurt?” they had laughed and waved him off.

“No, don’t worry. I had worse when I first learned the sword.”

“C’mon, bro. You know I’ve had worse.”

It didn’t fool him, of course. He could _see_ the shifts in their auras where nerves had pinched—their shapes really _did_ give him more than they thought—but he decided not to push it. His body still felt shaky, so he didn’t really want to force himself to speak any more than he had to.

They, on the other hand, had plenty of questions for him, and they always started in just a little too soon.

“So, bro,” Dororo started. “You said something was wrong with the storm last night? Do you know what was wrong with it?”

Hyakkimaru startled. He hadn’t expected them to ask so soon. “Around, a thing.” He waved his arms in a circle, trying to mime how it had been everywhere.

“A thing? Like a demon?”

“It would have to be a different kind of demon if that were the case,” Tahomaru spoke from his other side, running an apologetic hand over his shoulder.

“Nno,” Hyakkimaru answered, already grimacing at the slur in his words. “Not a demon.”

For the most part, though, they seemed to have gotten used to that part of him.

“Okay,” Dororo answered simply, winding his fingers through the prosthetic ones. “That’s okay.”

As they walked on, he couldn’t help feeling that it wasn’t fair that they had to help him through so much. There was still so much he couldn’t talk about, things he wouldn’t have even known _what_ he was talking about. He didn’t even _like_ to talk. But they were always there, hands on his back, quietly reassuring. And he _knew_ it wasn’t like he never helped them with anything. But with Tahomaru’s eye and Dororo still a child, they depended on him to fight off demons or make sure they had enough food (Dororo could forage and Tahomaru could make traps, but they still needed his aura sight most of the time) or that some roving swordsmen didn’t try to use them for target practice.

But as tiny hands squeezed and swung his own, he knew it was more than that. When Hyakkimaru wasn’t fighting demons or hunting food, Dororo would babble endlessly about anything he happened to notice (which he was doing now, even if he was too quiet to make out the words), and Tahomaru would walk alongside him, never quite as talkative, always just a little more uncertain. And it felt _good_ to know that someone still wanted him around once the demons were dead.

There hadn’t been many others like that.

The thought stopped him in his path, and he hesitated for a moment. Then all at once, he turned around and pulled them both to him in a tight hug.

“W-woah! What brought this on?” Dororo stammered, reaching up to return the gesture anyway, squeezing with all the might his tiny body could muster.

A moment later, Tahomaru’s arm found its place, not with the same force he or Dororo put into it, but enough pressure to be a part of it.

And if in that moment, Hyakkimaru couldn’t find the words for it, they both understood what he meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The content warning is for brief, non-graphic depictions/indications of events in episodes 5 and 6, a past character death also related to those episodes, as well as a brief, non-graphic depiction of a semi-accidental self-injury.
> 
> As for the End Note end notes:  
> I actually ended up writing most of this while inside a tornado shelter, though the tornado itself ultimately missed us. Hyakkimaru's chapter was one of those where I needed to narrow it down, pick one thing and stick to it. One of the other ideas has been relocated to a separate wip, while several others were compressed down. Some aspects of this were inspired by a Dance Therapy workshop I went to around the time I originally got into Dororo, as well as some of my favorite tropes in the show and in fanfiction.
> 
> While I had chosen to write Hyakkimaru's perspective using the same syntax and whatnot that I used for Dororo and Tahomaru, in some ways, it did feel a little like trying to translate. I think he thinks a lot of things, he just doesn't always have words to put them to. Which is a little hard to convey when writing a fanfiction, though many authors have done beautifully finding different ways to do it. 
> 
> Also, I did heavily contemplate making another "mama" reference at several points in this fic. I decided against it mostly because I had a hard time making the wording fit the tone of the rest of the paragraph. At the same time, it could just be my summer course talking and sapping all my brain energy.
> 
> In any event, please let me know what you think!  
> ~Rin


End file.
